Seven Ways to Escape the Afterlife
by Jollie Killjoy
Summary: HBP spoliers! A trip to Hogsmeade leads to a quest for immortality... How will young Tom Riddle achieve it? How far will he go to do so? And what does Malfoy's grandfather have to do with it, anyways!
1. A Midnight Trip

Seven Ways to Escape the Afterlife

By Jollie Killjoy

**A/N (skip if you'd like): **aye, this is me first fanfic! Well... it wouldn't be correct to say _first, _seeing as I had written a few before this one... but most of them remain unfinished and unposted, so I suppose it counts as a first. Sort of. Anyways! If I make any mistakes regarding Harry Potter info/timelines and if stuff doesn't make sense according to the books, please tell me! I haven't read any of them for a while, except for the Half Blood Prince of course (in two days! Rather impressive for a slow reader like me). Hope you enjoy!

* * *

Prologue: A Midnight Trip

It was a serene and peaceful night in the wizarding town of Hogsmeade; a little too peaceful, perhaps, seeing as the owner of Zonko's had a terrible habit of testing his upcoming (and often highly explosive) products late into the night. The residents of the town paid little mind to the lack of explosions, though; grateful for the apparent tranquility, they simply assumed that the man had blown himself up or something of the sort.

Not that a town neighboring a mystifying school like Hogwarts could _ever _hope be peaceful, really. On the surface it was, perhaps, but as the townspeople slept, deals were being dealt; young Tom Riddle was out heading for the Hog's Head with less than legal intentions in mind.

_I suppose it's safe to take this bloody thing off, _he thought to himself, taking off the invisibility cloak he had nicked from a fellow Slytherin. Seeing as said Slytherin was a first year, he was having some trouble keeping himself hidden, but luckily, he managed to creep his way out of the castle without rousing anyone (except for the Bloody Baron, who Tom suspected had noticed him, but the deceased don't really count).

"If he isn't here this time..." the young man whispered to himself, trailing off in annoyance as he uncloaked himself and stuffed the enchanted fabric in one of his velvet pockets. Well, actually... it wouldn't be correct to say that the pockets belonged to him. Nor did the rest of the outfit, for that matter. They were actually Professor Slughorn's, the potion master; Tom, who was currently bearing the Professor's form (with much thanks to a flask of Polyjuice Potion), had to 'borrow' some of the heavy man's clothes to pull his temporary identity off. "I hope that filthy little house elf gave me the right set of robes," Tom continued to whisper to himself, slightly paranoid. Taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself for the important task at hand, he stuck a plump hand into his pocket to make sure he had the correct amount of Galleons and entered the Hog's Head.

"Slughorn," muttered the shaggy barman, nonchalantly acknowledging the man's presence. "The usual mead?"

"Indeed," Tom said, faking his professor's greedy smile flawlessly. Inwardly relieved that the Polyjuice Potion had worked (and why wouldn't it? Tom was no beginner at the delicate task of brewing it) he looked around, but saw only three other people in the bar: two anxious-looking men clad in heavy fur, and an immensely drunk, shriveled old woman.

_I hope Borgin knows what he's doing, _Tom thought tensely, willing his face not to twist into an angry scowl._ Sending his son of to deliver three highly valuable pints of Unicorn blood, of all people! He probably left half his intestines behind apparating here, the bloody fool! _He took a seat behind the two fur-clad men, looking at the door impatiently. Blocking out the wails of the intoxicated old woman, he started to ponder what he would resort to if, within half an hour, Borgin's son didn't arrive. _I could always wrench his guts out through his throat and dispose of his body in the Forbidden Forest... but that would be rather tasteless and unimaginative, wouldn't it? _

"Shhhh! Don't be so bloody loud about such a wicked matter! It's bad luck, I tell ya!"

Upon hearing the panicked whisper, Tom snapped out of his gruesome musings. What matter could be so horrific that it was feared to be talked about, in the Hog's Head of all places?

"Fine, fine," one of the fur clad men murmured irritably, running a dirty hand through coarse, black hair. "But heed my words, the man, if you can call him one at this point, is not to be associated with anymore. The separation of one's soul is downright unnatural!"

"Must be warped beyond belief," the other man whispered fearfully, burying his face into his high-necked bear coat and pulling his large hat further over his forehead.

"Aye," the first man continued, a sinister look in his eyes. "Horcruxes... they're a tricky matter. They deform you into an inhuman swine, but they make you absolutely immortal, I heard."

At that last sentence, Tom completely froze. _Absolute immortality?__ But... It can't be, I must have misheard... _

The bloke who seemed to be hiding inside a mass of fur gulped in response. "Immortal?"

"I reckon anyone with a Horcrux would be hard to finish off entirely if part of his soul is tucked away somewhere, unless you know where that part is, which is highly unlikely." the black-haired man said in a hushed voice, clearly getting a bit frightened himself. "So as I said, you have to stay away from him. No idea what he's gonna do next, the madman."

"Oh, I will," replied the other, eyes wide. "Wouldn't want to be involved in such a dreadful matter."

Upon hearing this, Tom's face twisted into a disturbingly unhinged smile that seemed to go beyond typical greed, looking quite out of place on Slughorn's fleshy face. The thought of immortality excited him immensely; endless time... Endless possibilities...

"Your mead," grumbled the barman from behind the oak counter.

Tom jumped a bit, clearly startled. "Ah yes, thank you..." he said a bit shakily, getting up to retrieve his drink. _Shit, I broke character, _he thought to himself angrily, vowing to be more careful next time. Although, as he guzzled the beverage, his mind started to drift again. _No death, no humanity... No chains to hold me back... _

Looking at the door one more time to see that Borgin's son had not yet arrived, Tom suddenly decided that he didn't really care. As he paid the barman and walked swiftly out of the Hog's Head, his intentions became not only illegal but especially dark, perverse even.

_Horcruxes__... I must discover more. _


	2. Old Friends & Old Disagreements

Seven Ways to Escape the Afterlife

By Jollie Killjoy

**A/N (because for some outlandish reason I feel obligated to have one): **well,I am proud (and shocked) to say that I consider my last chapter a relative success! Much thanks and appreciation, reviewers! I doubt anyone's tracking this, but I'm sorry I haven't updated; with all the excitement of vacationing outside the US and the occasional lack of internet (I'm currently in Israel visiting family, and was in Canada like a week ago visiting old friends), I pretty much didn't have a chance. But anyhow! I have added some relatively major OC's to this chapter (out of necessity, I'm generally not big on main OC's). I mean, there isn't much information as to who Voldie (…hee, _Voldie_) associated with in the books, at least not that I found… I did look up family trees though, so I could make a few OC's more, err, believable? If that makes any sense. I would appreciate it very much if you reviewed with comments on them!

* * *

Borgin & Burkes was a dank, musty store with a rather mysterious air about it. To unfamiliar customers, the shabby building appeared to have seen better days; aged and full of antiques, it was a place with a lot of history to it. And not necessarily the good kind. Though the fact that it was in Knockturn Alley gave it a bad name by default, there was a little something more to this particular shop... walking in, one often felt as if a gruesome misfortune took place in it, perhaps thousands of years ago.

That was probably one of the things that drew Tom to this store, of all places. The store he was now working at.

Though that was certainly not his first choice of career; he had wanted to become a teacher at Hogwarts. The strange, perplexing nature of the school had always held his interest. But charismatic and talented as he was, he was denied a job there, supposedly due to "lack of experience". Of course, Tom didn't believe this excuse for a moment; he suspected that professor Dumbledore had played a large part in keeping him away from a position of responsibility at the school. The aging instructor had always seemed to be more than slightly biased against him, often accusing him of being up to a variety of rather ghastly things.

It was Dumbledore upon which Tom placed a lot of blame for the fact that he had still not gathered the information he wanted, no, _needed_, regarding Horcruxes. Resentfully, the young man would frequently recall how the professor, sharp and knowing as he was, would often 'mysteriously' appear whenever Tom was on some sort of track to finding out about the mechanics of creating a Horcrux (or anything remotely dark, for that matter). Dumbledore seemed to be able to read his mind; as much as Tom hated to admit it, it scared him sometimes. Just a little.

But it had been quite a while since he graduated from his 7th year. Tom was now safe from the teacher's intrusive eyes, to the best of his knowledge, and he could continue his search in relative peace. It didn't have to take place in Hogwarts, he had reasoned. Besides, he wasn't wanted. There were many, many other places to look.

Borgin & Burkes seemed like the perfect place to start without rousing too much suspicion. It goes without saying that his former classmates wondered why he, who had received such high marks, applied to work at some random shop in Knockturn Alley, but Tom couldn't care less what they thought of him. Those who he considered important to him had a vague idea of why he was working there, and that was all he could really be bothered with.

* * *

"You don't suppose we should _rob _the place, do you?"

"Rubbish. To quote what I heard from costumers, a rat probably couldn't crawl in without getting fatally injured. What I need to do is talk to the old hag; she'll get me what I need, eventually."

Abraxas looked at his friend skeptically. "Talk to her! You say it like it's _easy_, as if she gives her collection out at random or something!"

Tom glared at him, brown eyes flaring in warning. Abraxas flinched.

"Don't question my plan, Malfoy. I know exactly what I'm doing."

Abraxas studied Tom's face closely, debating whether he should express his poorly-hidden concern. Common sense told him it wasn't wise. "Err, perhaps you should bring Melinda along, then?" he suggested instead.

"Melinda Black?" Tom raised an eyebrow at the mention of his former classmate; he hadn't seen her since graduation. "What exactly are you getting at?" he continued, narrowing his eyes.

"Well, she _is _a relative of the old coot... if the rumors around here are true, she probably knows how to get in that old basement better than anyone who isn't. And you're only part Wizard; after all, that relic's known for refusing to give things out to half --"

"I am fully aware of my position in this situation," Tom retorted, quiet but deadly. Absolutely livid that one of the few he was fairly open with would dare to even _mention _his most tender weakness, his eyes practically lit up in flames, mouth twisted into a furious scowl. Abraxas flinched again, quickly averting his eyes from his friend's face. Realizing he made a huge mistake, he didn't dare utter a word.

"Last I heard, Melinda was in France," Tom continued the conversation after a few moments of precarious silence, deciding to take Abraxas' idea into consideration. The mistake was forgiven, leaving Abraxas quite relieved.

"She returned about a month ago."

"I'm guessing you know where to contact her?"

The blonde man grinned, a small trace of arrogance wafting across his frightened features. "Of course."

"And you're convinced she'll agree?"

"With a little persuading..."

The corner of Tom's mouth twitched in suspicion. "And what, exactly, is the nature of the persuasion we're talking about?"

"Trust me on this one. I know what to do."

In a rare occasion that surely got Merlin's trousers in a twist, Tom decided not to query the subject further. He was getting impatient, simply lingering around Borgin & Burkes in hopes of hearing something important. It was about time to take some action.

* * *

Sitting in a warmly-decorated flat, Melinda Black was fully engaged in the delicate art of knitting a sweater. She sighed in contentment as she watched her own delicate fingers work thick, indigo strands of wool. Finally, some peace. Peace that had been a stranger to her for far too long.

A rarely-mentioned member of the 'Noble and Most Ancient House of Black', she chose not to associate with her family after becoming a legal witch. Melinda was a highly independent young lady, and she did not particularly enjoy certain things that came with being a Black; for one, her great grandfather was the least popular headmaster ever to assume responsibility over Hogwarts. For another, she deemed the obsessive way in which her family tended to hoard things absolutely silly. And last but not least, Kreacher. He was an annoying little bastard, and she definitely did _not _wish to deal with him. Having a dominant personality by nature, she expressed these disagreements with her family rather vocally, and thus she was erased from the family tree due to 'lack of loyalty and proper dignity' upon leaving her father and mother's house. The only remaining evidence of her heritage was her last name, which she kept simply because she believed the process of changing it to be far too complicated. Her opinion was the same on the matter of marriage.

Hearing the whistle of her teapot, Melinda slowly put her knitting down and gently walked to the kitchen, pouring herself a mug. "To idleness," she lifted the mug, chuckling softly, and took a hearty sip.

Suddenly, Melinda heard something rather curious coming from the entrance of the flat: three loud knocks, two quiet ones, and a light tap on the door.

_Well, that's strange, _she thought to herself as she took another gulp of the warm, sweet liquid. The noise sounded familiar... but from where?

The chime of the doorbell ringing loudly through the house reminded her to open the door.

"Coming, coming!" Melinda yelled, swiftly walking over to the entrance.

What she saw at the foot of the door was definitely unexpected: a tall, thin, alarmingly pale man with bright blonde hair, misty grey eyes, and a somewhat pointed nose. The man was wearing a rather arrogant smirk.

Melinda could recognize that smirk anywhere.

"Bloody hell!"

Her mug was abruptly dropped.

* * *

"That was pretty sleazy of you, using that knock." Melinda huffed, making sure not to look her guest in the eyes. "The one you'd use on my dormitory door when you wanted to... when you..." she couldn't bear to continue the sentence.

Abraxas didn't seem phased. Quite the contrary, actually; he still wore his trademark smirk. "I figured you'd recognize it."

"Hah, recognize..." Melinda laughed bitterly. "Well, out with it: what brings _you _here?"

"What brought you to _France_Abraxas retorted, veering from the subject. He didn't want to discuss it just yet.

"Just wanted to get away from... things..." the dark-haired girl trailed off, looking wistfully at her window.

"Such as?"

Melinda glared at him. "_You._"

"C'mon, I wasn't _that _bad!"

"Look, Malfoy, I _don't_ want to talk about it! Now can you _please_ tell me in the name of Merlin what you're doing here!"

Abraxas sighed, deciding that buttering the girl up probably wouldn't make her any less irritated. "You remember Tom, right?"

Melinda looked at the pale young man dubiously. "Riddle? Tom Riddle? What does hehave to do with anything?"

"He needs your assistance in certain... matters."

Melinda rolled her eyes, recalling the following her former classmate had in school. "Well then, why doesn't he get his pompous little arse over here instead of sending one of his lackeys?"

Abraxas jumped out of his seat. "Are you calling me a hanger-on!"

"Gee, I wonder! How about we put our heads together use _brain power _to figure this out," Melinda replied sarcastically.

Abraxas glared at her and gritted his teeth, obviously wound up. _Keep your eye on the goal, keep your eye on the goal... _he chanted in his mind, slowly calming himself down.

"Well?" Melinda snapped. "What does he need mefor? And exactly _why _should I help him, for that matter?"

Abraxas breathed in for a second, attempting to clear his mind of thoughts not involving the task at hand (which proved to be quite a task on its own). "It's about your great-grandmother." He exhaled.

The witch snorted. "Did she die yet?"

"Surprisingly enough, she hasn't," Abraxas replied, cracking a bit of a grin. "I suspect you know about her antique basement, The Kismet Labyrinth?"

"Funny, the batty old woman refuses to sell anything if it isn't for a ridiculously high price... or ridiculously important person," Melinda said, the smile of a cynic painted on her dark features. "What's Riddle looking for in there? Some trinket of Slytherin's?"

"Actually, he's looking to buy one of the books."

Melinda raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to tell me what this book's gonna be for, are you?"

Abraxas smirked. "I might if you do me a few favors."

Melinda's black eyes narrowed. "_Right_. Now, exactly _why _do I have to come along? Mr. Magnetism can probably get the book on his own, if I know that cheat well enough."

"_You're_ from the family, though. You know where the basement is and how to get in better than any of us. And you _did_ say she's unlikely to sell of her precious artifacts to just anyone..."

"I've been erased from the tree, idiot. I would've thought the gossip reached you by now." _Bloody people with no lives always find something to gossip about, _Melinda finished her statement to herself disdainfully.

"It has. I figured you're the only one in the family who's willing to face that crackpot. And besides," Abraxas added, "you're smarter than the rest of them. Family tree or not, you have a better chance at getting what you want."

A small, genuine smile appeared on Melinda's lips. "Abraxas... well... "

The blonde grinned to himself a little. _So, she's suddenly on a first name basis with me again, eh?_

"...what's in it for me?"

The grin immediately turned into a frown. "That, you'll have to discuss with Tom later."

Melinda crossed her arms defiantly. "Forget it."

"Oh, come on! Have I ever lied to you?"

"_Yes._"

"Look, this is easy money and it won't take much time out of your schedule, so will you _please_ just believe me on this one? Contrary to popular belief, I don't lie about important matters."

Melinda thought for a moment, her murky eyes wandering around her warm, peaceful flat. She had bought this place to get away from everything, to have a little time to think about the direction of her life without being persuaded or disturbed... "I have no idea what in Merlin's name I'm getting myself into, but what the hell. I'm in."

"Excellent," Abraxas said, a satisfied look on his face as he stepped towards the doorway. "At the entrance to Borgin & Burkes, around 6 P.M.?"

"Deal."

Abraxas grinned, exposing an abnormally large amount of teeth. "Bye then, Melsie Cakes," he said mock-sweetly, striding out the front door.

It took a moment for Melinda's old nickname to register in her mind. "You slimy little prat, you haven't changed one bit!" she hollered out of the opening.

Hearing this, Abraxas' grin got wider.

* * *

The beginning of a sunset was starting to form as Melinda stood outside of Borgin & Burkes, stuffing her hands in her coat's pockets. It was a cool, breezy evening, and both Diagon and Knockturn alley were bustling as ever. Melinda's eyes wandered from her watch, to the vendors on the street, to the eerie-looking customers and back again as she pondered to herself whether Tom was going to arrive... and what she would do to Abraxas if he didn't. _Surely that git wouldn't make up such an elaborate prank without involving color-changing hair and a touch of fire, though. Right? _

"My, Melinda, you've changed quite a bit."

Melinda jumped and whipped around quickly. In front of her stood a tall, fine-looking young man who she presumed to be Tom.

"You certainly haven't, startling people like that."

Tom chuckled. "I suppose not," he responded light-heartedly. "How was France?"

"Quit the small talk," Melinda snapped, rolling her eyes. "As you may or may not know, my great-grandmother's basement is in the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, near a particularly wide oak that has a hole in it due to lightening. I'm not positive on how to get in, but I've thought up a few things that I'm pretty sure will do the trick," she explained, quickly and coldly. "Shall we apparate?"

_Still a foul little wench, _Tom thought to himself. He had never really enjoyed Melinda's challenging nature; challenging others was his job. But he put aside his dislike for the young girl, keeping his mannerisms refined and polite. He knew that if he set her off at this point, she'd refuse to be of any help, which he'd be forced to wring out of her using other methods... and there was really no point in using violence if it wasn't needed, in this situation. Violence would come later.

"If you wish," he replied, as if he had not heard Melinda's biting tone. The two immediately apparated, preparing to face the notorious widow of Phineas Nigellus.


	3. Into the Woods and Underground

Seven Ways to Escape the Afterlife

By Jollie Killjoy

**A/N (to satisfy my ramble cravings): **well, here we are, the third chapter! Or the second, since the first was technically the prologue... err, scratch that. Anyways, I'm proud to say that although this took a bit of time, I didn't procrastinate, which is a big accomplishment for the likes of me (it's dreadful, really, I put off the silliest things sometimes). Much gratitude to the reviewers! You guys are awesome, seriously, without any reinforcement (positive or otherwise), I probably wouldn't have gotten past the first installment. Special thanks to Lameth Mornefea for pointing out that by sixteen, Tom created the diary that Ginny was possessed by, meaning that by now he'd know how to create a Horcrux. This sort of makes my story more of a what-if fic than a canon one, but I'm still going to try to make things as canon as possible. Dunno what it is about me, but unless I'm writing humor, I like things to be fairly accurate, which is kinda strange seeing as I really don't care if what I'm reading isn't unless they made Dumbledore a Brittney Spears addict or something. _Ha...! _you know, I can totally base a one-shot on that...

* * *

To make the understatement of the century, Godric's Hollow was not a very busy place. The village was actually rather homey; surrounded by a forest of oaks, it was full of large grassy areas, sparsely dotted by little cottages and log cabins. Having a fairly small population, it included only the most necessary of public facilities; if you needed anything else, you would have to drive into one of the larger cities. To say that they were near the small town would be the overstatement of the century.

Although Godric's Hollow was known to the general public as a muggle community, there were, in fact, quite a few wizards and witches living in it. It was even rumored that the village was originally a wizarding community, founded by the legendary Godric Gryffindor. But the magical folk that tended to settle there weren't quite as powerful or prominent as Godric himself; usually, they were simply young couples -- living as muggles, of course -- that wished to raise a family in a calm, safe environment.

It is perhaps ironic that a store for ancient (and often suspicious) artifacts, owned by an elitist member of the pureblood Black family, happened to be located in its outskirts.

Even more ironically, as the sun set and draped the town in a serene pinkish tint, two people in search of one of the most infamous and wicked spells known to wizard apparated in front of a wooden sign, leading to the area in which the store resided.

"_Goddamnit!_ Bloody thorns! Why I oughta..." The silence of the woods was disrupted by Melinda's long string of rather colorful curses.

"Not used to apparition?" Tom asked her, raising an eyebrow.

"None of your business, Riddle."

Tom bit his tongue, willing himself not to show his fury. He was getting tired of the rude girl's assumption that they were 'partners', equals even. But as much as he wished to teach her that this was not the case, his desire to claim what he had long awaited overwhelmed that. He would simply have to bear her atrocious behavior until she was not needed, he concluded, reminding himself yet again that this seemed to be his only option. As much as he loathed the lack thereof.

Thus Tom courteously helped up the disgruntled girl, who was lying on a particularly prickly bush in front of him. It took quite a bit of effort, seeing as her limbs were tangled in an unpleasant manner, but once she got on her feet and brushed a few thorns off her clothes, she was trotting off briskly as if she arrived at the forest in the most delicate and ladylike of manners.

"Hm..." she suddenly paused, slowly taking her surroundings in. "It's _supposed_ to be shortly after the enter sign..." Her eyes darted from the lofty trees to the bark and vegetation strewn across the ground. Deciding that there was nothing of interest there, she took a turn to the right and continued to search, her lips pursed in concentration.

"Nothing yet?"

Melinda shook her head, trudging further into the forest. Tom followed suit.

As the pair plodded along, frequently stopping to inspect one of the trees, the sky turned from a calm pink to a deep purple, a reddish tint remaining around the horizon. The number of woodland creatures scurrying across the ground became smaller and smaller, and Tom suddenly had to burry his thin form further into his trench coat to shield himself from the growing chill. Considering all, though, the forest at sunset was a rather attractive sight; if it was a normal evening, he might've not minded this, perhaps enjoyed it even. But a piece of very important merchandise was awaiting him, and it was making him rather restless.

Unexpectedly, after much looking about, Melinda paused, inspecting the growth around her. "Aha!" she exclaimed, pulling out her wand. "_Mobilifilix!_"(1)

On command, a thick, tousled fern moved approximately a yard away from a predominantly tall tree. As Melinda predicted, the fern was covering a hole in the oak that the two were looking for: slightly jagged at the sides with scorched-black edges, as if struck by lightening. Though unlike the cavernous gap Tom was expecting, it seemed more like a small puncture than anything; the anticipation left his face, his features turning faintly sour.

Melinda herself looked utterly puzzled.

"And this, I presume, is going to lead us into the Kismet Labyrinth?" Tom queried, the corner of his mouth lightly tugging at a suspicious frown.

Melinda's brow furrowed. "I suppose getting in couldn't have been _that _easy, it wouldn't really be characteristic of a Black..." she mumbled, half to herself, and inspected the hole further. "The use of a Reductor Curse probably wouldn't do any good on this," she continued uneasily. "If it had worked for people before us, we'd see where they blasted the tree open. I... I really don't know how anyone could get in this without smashing it up a bit, though..."

When he realized just how limited the extent of Melinda's knowledge as to how to get into the Labyrinth was, Tom's patience started going down the drain. "And your point is? We've been wandering around for about a century," he said in a near-snarl, eyes narrowing.

"Would you rather look for the entrance yourself?" Melinda shot back, and started circling the thick trunk.

Tom scowled and watched her until she became fully hidden from view, fidgeting with the galleons in his pocket. Minutes that seemed like hours to the impatient young man passed, and he started wondering whether this 'Black' girl was to be trusted. _Foolish, absolutely foolish to have faith Malfoy's lack of instinct! The confidence that ferret-faced little good-for-nothing had in her, it's unbelievable... I probably would've been far better off with a member of the family that wasn't erased from the bloody tree... _

An abrupt gasp interrupted Tom's thoughts.

Hopefully, he hurried over, excited at the prospect that this search was finally going somewhere. But what he found was something that, unfortunately, made the situation even more difficult: Melinda had found another hole, one spacious enough to barely fit an adult in... The problem was, it happened to be around the very top of the tree.

"Near the hole... Hah, I think I know what Father meant when he said the Labyrinth was _near_ the hole..." Melinda almost whispered, her muddy black eyes widening.

Tom caught on instantaneously. "Are you suggesting that, to get inside the Labyrinth, we're going to have to writhe through a possibly lethal tree trunk?" he asked, his dislike of the idea becoming quite apparent. "As delightful as it sounds, I think I'd rather not rot to death in some overgrown oak."

"I doubt there are any spells in it, aside from some kind of tree-hollowing one," Melinda retorted, understanding the underlying implication of Tom's words. "I suppose the old nutcase decided that the location of the hole would be enough to ward most unwanted people away, let alone the rumors going on about this place."

"Yes, yes, the _location _of the hole," Tom spat back, his patience being pushed over the edge more than ever. The precious information he had wanted since he was a mere schoolboy was only a few steps away, and it was driving him positively mad. "I suppose you have an idea as to how to get to this particular, _location?" _He emphasized the last word, just barely concealing his fury.

"I told you I was going to be prepared, didn't I?" Melinda grumbled, choosing to ignore the rage of the man in front of her. She then pulled out a long rope from one of the numerous pockets in her coat, along with a small vial filled with a gooey, puce colored substance. Opening the cork previously closing the small flask, Melinda slathered the solution on the end of the rope, a disgusted look on her face as she took in its sour smell.

"This is your plan?" Tom gave the girl a skeptical look. "A rope and a container of _stick potion?"_

"Home brewed," Melinda replied with a grin, throwing the rope over a particularly sturdy branch and wrapping herself around it. "Would you prefer to get up there by climbing up the trunk?" she asked, and with a little difficulty brought on by her large coat, she started shimmying up the rope, a determined look in her eyes. Finally, after a bit of struggling, she hoisted herself up to the branch and held onto the trunk of the great oak. _Lets see if that pretentious bastard will go on with his little plan at this point, _she thought to herself with a sly smirk.

_So the wench wants to play games, _he thought with a rivaling shrewdness as he studied Melinda's sneer.Sure enough, the tall, lean young man started wriggling up the rope at high speed, his expression suddenly turning unreadable. Melinda's, however, clearly read surprise; with the show he put on thus far, she had not expected him to comply. _Well, that was certainly an abrupt change of moods... he must really want that silly book, _she supposed, shifting her position a little to give Tom some room on the branch.

He peered inside the hole, estimating its depth. "Ladies last, in this case," he said, and jumped in without so much as another word.

* * *

"I have to give it to that creaky bat," Melinda muttered contemptuously, feeling around the crammed, grimy space with her small hands. "She's definitely got a knack warding people off."

Tom grumbled something in response, but it was -- possibly due to the fact that his face was squashed into a dried mud wall several feet bellow the earth -- unintelligible.

"Got it!" Melinda exclaimed as her digits brushed a rusted metal handle. Gripping it, she started pulling furiously, attempting to open the apparent trap door beneath her._ This grubby place must have not seen visitors for years, _she reasoned, a musty smell encompassing her nostrils as she continued her struggle against the rotting piece of wood.

"Mmmmfff!"

"I'm getting at it, I'm getting at it..." Melinda murmured in response to the muffled gibberish, searching for a weak spot in the dirt around the door. _If I could just find one little spot where the dried mud crumbles a bit... Wait, I think I have it... _

"Ud oo ind oovimff!"

"_What? _I'm trying to concentrate, you know, so you'd better make sense if you want to tell me something,_" _Melinda snapped, still focused on releasing the trap door lodged into the earth.

Tom decided to throw civility out the window and elbow the girl in the ribs.

"Oi! What was that for!"

"For nearly strangling me in this godforsaken cave," Tom retorted, suppressing the urge to add to the statement his thoughts about the young lady being an incompetent twat. "Now please, kindly crawl aside so I can get us out of this blasted mess," he continued, the prospect of actually being able to breathe calming him a bit as he groped for the door, then bent over it and pulled with all his strength.

Without warning, the trap door previously wedged stubbornly in the earth was wrenched open (earning a grumble from Melinda regarding the fact that she did all the work); a dim light filtered into the tiny burrow -- from which the two exited with great enthusiasm. Upon landing on the dirty wooden floor of what appeared to be the Labyrinth, they peered around: it was crammed and musty-smelling, lightly illuminated by candles floating in the stuffy air. The walls and ceiling, like the floor, were made of wood; it was almost like being trapped in a giant wooden crate, Tom reflected. Brown eyes wandering from shelf to shelf in fascination, he ran his hand on one of the dustier mantelpieces. For whatever reason, he was a bit... tentative, perhaps, about it. For a moment, it felt as though he was disrupting the mystique of the Labyrinth, but he dismissed the thought quickly, deeming it rather silly and unnecessary. Deciding to further examined the shelf, he bent down a bit and eyed the lower levels. It was piled with what appeared to be a rather eerie collection of strange artifacts: a Foe-Glass, probably the former possession of some auror turned paranoid; a jar of dried snakeskin, stacked together with other assorted potion ingredients; a clump of shrunken heads, tied collectively at the hair by a piece of string, much like the ones back at Borgin's; an unidentifiable brown, moist looking lump. Tom could've stayed there for hours on end, simply gazing at the mysterious remnants, wondering where they came from and what uses they could have... he willed himself to get up, though, and follow Melinda -- the girl was seemingly unaffected by the Labyrinth's strange spell -- who was already hastily hurrying along the disorganized aisles.

"Her desk, her desk..." the girl mumbled to herself, fumbling with a lock of thick, black hair. "It's probably either at the end of the store, or perhaps the very center, where one would have easier access to things... yes..." She quickly changed directions. Tom followed, tearing his gaze from a distinctly old issue of the Daily Prophet: it had an article about the Chudley Cannons, 'undefeatable masters of Quidditch', winning the England cup.

Abruptly, Tom heard a dull thumping coming from somewhere behind him, followed by a throaty rasp. With a sharp intake of air and dust, he spun around in near-paranoia, but his eyes were met with nothing but the muddle of the shelves.

"Hurry up! I think I'm on to something," Melinda called over her shoulder, rapidly taking another turn. Tom scowled, his breath returning, and darted after her, suspiciously scanning the Labyrinth once more; careful as he was, the man knew better than to rule out the option of being followed by a spy. Though he appeared arrogant at times, he was very aware of the fact that there were quite a few people who would love to catch him up to something shady.

"Aha!" Melinda exclaimed, following a trail of markings on the floor. She briefly wondered if they actually meant something, or if they were just scratches from one of the shelves being moved around... but she decided that any clue was a good clue at that point, having no desire to continue the search longer than necessary. Tom followed once more, still somewhat apprehensive about the noise he had heard. He decided to focus on the book to subdue his unease -- it was, after all, the reason he was there in the first place. _Lets see... encased in abnormally thick leather, and if I'm not mistaken, bound by two locks. That old man that's always lurking around Knockturn Alley said it had a picture of Pandora's Box_(2)_ on the cover, very fitting for a book in which --_

"_Filthy little maggots!" _

The two jumped from the sudden shrill voice, and the dull thumps Tom had heard started turning into large bangs.

"The nerve of people these days... just _barging _in whenever you please, eh? Is that it? Why, if Phineas was still alive..." the voice trailed off disdainfully.

It was then that Tom realized where the noise had been coming from. _The old widow must have been following us around after hearing us enter, _he thought to himself, slightly disturbed with the amount of time it took him to notice.

"Didn't think she could still walk..." Melinda's dark eyes widened, watching the shriveled figure limp nearer until she was mere inches away from her.

"_You! _A disgrace, you are," the old woman rasped, her large, pale eyes glaring accusingly at Melinda. "How _dare _you set foot in the Labyrinth of Edith Cressida Beatrix Black, the widow of the most honorable Phineas Nigellus! Smutty little traitor, sullying the name of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black!"

"Ah, but she has only been of much aid, allowing me to gaze with my unworthy eyes upon your fine shop," Tom explained smoothly, suddenly stepping forward. "Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. Beatrix Black: I am the heir of Salazar Slytherin, here to collect a certain artifact of his. If, you'll be gracious enough to allow me," he added, taking a low bow.

Melinda didn't even bother to hide her bewilderment at his swift change of demeanor. This couldn't be the same haughty, conceited man who she had led into the Labyrinth... could it?

"The heir of Salazar Slytherin?" the elderly woman repeated the gentleman's words suspiciously, quirking a thin, white eyebrow at him. "Prove yourself."

"My father's name is Morfin Gaunt, son of Marvolo Gaunt, and my mother is of the Malfoy family," he clarified, mouth widening into a toothy smile.

"Come with me," the old hag spat, her voice scratchy, and started limping forward, loud beats following her steps; a wooden leg peeked from under her long plum robes. "We'll see if what you speak is the truth, boy."

Melinda meandered after them, suddenly realizing that she had seen this kind of behavior coming from Tom before: lying through his teeth, flattering excessively... of course, that was partly what made most of his Professors adore him so; it was a method he fondly used to climb to the top, along with inflicting fear on those who were unfortunate enough to be at the bottom. _Well then, he'll surely get along with the aged crone, _she thought, shuddering in disgust. Her desire to immediately leave started growing stronger, but she willed herself to stay, if only for the money she would collect from Tom afterwards.

Promptly, the old widow stopped and slowly bent down, her bones creaking, and retrieved a crate from a particularly clean shelf near what appeared to be her desk, setting it on the ground.

"A wizard who claimed to be coming from Malaysia gave me this King Cobra for free, a bit less than a day ago, in fact. He was very eager to get rid of it," the witch croaked maliciously. "It only understands an elite dialect of Parseltongue. When it dies, I plan to keep its venom and sell it; I suppose it'll stay alive longer if it eats you, but that should be no concern to you, if you really are the son of Morfin Gaunt and the grandson of Marvolo. They would've taught you the dialect by now," she added, her pale blue eyes glinting unpleasantly.

Melinda's breath hitched; she knew for a fact that Tom had grown up in an orphanage. Was he really going to...?

* * *

1 - This is a modification of the Mobilicorpus, which is a spell that moves bodies (corpus is body in Latin). Assuming that filix means fern in Latin (which I'm pretty sure it does), the spell Melinda uses here moves... well, ferns.

2 - Pandora's Box comes from Greek mythology, it is definitely not my own invention. It's basically a box filled with rage, hunger, disease, anguish, crime... you know, all that yummy stuff. Look it up on Google if you'd like.


	4. Author's Note: Going on Hiatus

Seven Ways to Escape the Afterlife

By Jollie Killjoy

**A/N (quite shockingly, it actually matters this time): **so I have decided to put this story on hold. I know that it's kind of lame to do that after three chapters, but to be honest, I started this fic simply for the sake of starting _something_... and I'm not really sure how to go about it anymore. I do have the plot vaguely planned out, but I don't know, the words don't seem to be flowing and frankly, I'm losing focus. I've got these two other stories that I _adore _at the moment (one's not up yet, but it will be in the near future) and they've been taking up my attention, as well as school, soccer, guitar, et cetera... and friends, obviously (gasp! Jollie has a social life!). So, I apologize, and promise that I'll continue this sometime. Perhaps not soon, but it won't remain unfinished. I simply believe in posting good things when the time is right, rather than putting out crap for the sake of putting out crap (as if this wasn't crappy enough). Again, thank you very much reviewers! I really hope that I won't be losing any of you while this goes on hiatus.


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